–Caia–
It was my third night as a dancer in this exclusive club.
My first audition?
They found me attractive and believed I could draw more customers.
This job?
It wasn’t decent, but I had no choice.
My father is paralyzed, and my family needs money to survive.
For just one night, this job paid me three times more than working in a restaurant.
But they wouldn’t know me.
I requested a mask for every performance.
I never danced without it.
The smell of smoke and alcohol made me sick, but I sprayed cheap perfume to conceal it.
“This is her third night in a row.
She dances like the Goddess of Butterflies.
Our very own, Mariposa!” The lights dimmed as I stepped onto the pole, the spotlight fixed on me.
The music was slow, ethereal… I moved carefully in my silk robe, then revealed my two-piece—white, with straps along the legs.
Facing away from them, I heard whistles, screams, and claps.
I wasn’t happy with this job, but it paid.
After my performance, money covered the floor.
A cleaner gathered it to prepare for me.
I knew my manager was cutting my tips.
He grabbed my arm as I entered backstage.
“You’re needed in the VVIP area,” Mr.
Larkson said.
“VVIP?” I had never heard of VVIP.
I was usually requested in VIP or regular rooms.
I put on my robe and headed there.
“You need to remove your mask,” he said, and I froze.
“No,” I answered stubbornly.
“It’s in my—”
“That man will pay you half a million if you do.
He’s the new owner of this club.
But it’s your choice.”
The first owner I had seen—fat, bulging belly.
He harassed me, tried to force himself on me, but I fought back.
The new owner, a young man in a suit, had said no one could touch the goods.
Like I was just an item.
But it saved me.
They probably knew I was a virgin and valued me highly.
I entered the VVIP room.
It was dark, with only a spotlight on the round platform.
A man sat there, smoking tobacco.
I held my breath, trying not to cough, watching as he pressed the ash into the tray.
Then he signaled me to dance.
I climbed the platform in tall heels.
I couldn’t see his face, but he was big, sitting like a king.
I started the music and danced.
He signaled me again to come closer.
“Sorry, handsome, but I only dance.” A lascivious dance was enough to excite him.
He turned off the music, and I stopped.
“Come here,” he commanded, his voice dominant, deep, with a hint of sensuality.
I froze, hesitant, but stepped forward.
Though it was dark, I could tell he was handsome.
“I saw your performance.” Damn, why did he sound so sexy?
He pulled me onto his lap.
I nearly pushed him away.
“I have one hour with you,” he muttered, lifting my chin.
“Little Bunny.” He reached for a blanket, wrapped it around me, and handed me a bottle of water.
“Drink.”
I sighed and took it.
“You can have your refund,” I said, standing.
“I don’t do refunds, moya lyubov.” He pulled me back onto his lap.
My hand pressed against his chest by accident.
“It’s in my contract that no one touches me during an exclusive performance.”
He said nothing, only caressed my face.
His fingers were rough against my skin.
“Every night, you will stay here after your performance,” he said clearly.
I didn’t respond.
I drank the water, turned the music back on, and finished my dance.
I tossed the blanket aside.
I didn’t care if he was the owner now.
I had a contract, and I needed to dance for an hour since I was paid.
When I finished, I put on my robe.
He stood, towering—over six feet.
He approached, lowered his head, and lifted my chin, removing my mask.
“Remember, Little Bunny.
After every performance, you stay here for an hour.
Keep your performance short.”
“Understood,” I said casually and left.
The manager approached, smiling.
“How was it?” I wanted to kill him right there.
But no, I needed this job.
“It’s fine,” I said, putting my mask back on.
At the dresser, other strippers chatted.
They asked about VVIP.
I answered casually—it was fine.
I was always nonchalant.
I didn’t want to stay long here.
I received my pay in cash, stuffed in a bag.
Probably dirty with semen and whatnot.
I’d have to wash and dry it.
Then a man in a suit approached, handing me a leather card holder—the same man who once told me I was a good item.
I was puzzled, but then remembered the VVIP room.
The man.
And this specific man who saved me two days ago.
I thought he was the owner, but he wasn’t.
Probably just a secretary.
He said nothing and left.
I removed my false lashes and makeup, cleaned my face, tied my hair into a ponytail, and changed into a shirt and jeans.
“Goodbye,” I said, heading out.
I exited quietly so no one would see me.
I clutched my sling bag, checked my pepper spray and knife, and walked down the alley toward home.
I froze at the sound of moaning in the usual alley, so I hurried past.
My stomach growled.
I hadn’t eaten dinner so my stomach would look flat.
I stopped at a convenience store, pulled out a clean bill, and bought a ready-to-eat meal.
I grabbed instant noodles, checked makeup and skincare, and filled my eco bag.
Leaving the store, I noticed a flashy car nearby.
I glanced, then kept walking.
No taxis were around, so I walked.
The streets were almost empty.
I felt someone behind me, following.
I turned—tall, thin figure.
I slowed, turned another way, and spotted a taxi.
I waved it down and hopped in quickly.
The man walked casually past.
Maybe he was just passing by.
But my heart raced.
I was paranoid.
I told the driver the nearest stop and paid extra.
I reached my apartment building—old, affordable.
Inside, I locked the door, double-locked it.
I exhaled, removed my mask, and turned on the lights.
I prepared the bucket I used to clean bills.
The bathroom and toilet were small, combined.
A shower reached the toilet bowl.
Very small.
But at least it had one bedroom and a kitchen.
Enough for me.
Though I could afford better, all my money went to my family.
My father needed medicine.
I was the only one working.
I had two younger siblings still studying.
I cleaned the money while stripping down—it was hot in the apartment.
I let the bills soak, washed my hands twice, then finally sat down to eat.
My food was almost cold.
My phone rang.
Probably my boss.
“Hello?”
“Caia,” Mr.
Larkson said.
“We have a program you might be interested in.
I sent the link.
Check it out.”
“Okay.” He hung up.
I opened the link.
My eyes widened.
An auction—to sell virginity.
Over two million in cash, depending on bids.
But no, I wouldn’t sell myself.
By the time I finished cleaning and bathing, it was nearly four in the morning.
I lay on my single bed, fan blasting, wearing boyshorts and a spaghetti strap shirt.
I had just fallen into a deep sleep when my phone rang.
I answered groggily.
“Hello?”
“Caia!
It’s an emergency.
Your dad was sent back to the hospital.
We need money right now.” I sat up quickly.
“Okay, tell me which hospital.
I’m going.”
“Caia, you don’t have to.
We can take care of it.
Just send money for the medical bills,” Mom said, panicked.
I didn’t hesitate.
I transferred the rest from my online bank.
That meant I had to deposit the cash still drying in my bathroom.